


There is No Chocolate for the Dead

by Myrrlhe



Category: Fatal Fury, King of Fighters
Genre: Gen, If you ask me about the timeline I will probably cry please it's not that important, M/M, post KOF XIV, post garou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrrlhe/pseuds/Myrrlhe
Summary: Rock Howard is willing to do anything to get rid of the legacy of 'that man'.Even if it means going on a date with the most insufferable person to walk this earth.
Relationships: Rock Howard/Ash Crimson
Kudos: 9





	There is No Chocolate for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Ash uses he/they interchangeably. Terry uses they. No, you will not change my mind.  
> I wanted to write a mystery. The end result? You'll see.

“I want to ask for your help.” 

The teen sitting on the bench raises a brow. “Well, bonjour to you too.” He drawls, cupping his chin. The nails stand out against the pale skin, painted shiny black. 

“Um.” Rock stops himself from biting his lip. The manicure glints like a beady crow’s eye, waiting for a slip-up. Even the way he’s sitting with his legs crossed looks like a cat about to pounce, and Rock swallows his mouth dry. This person was dangerous, he doesn't have to be a genius to know. “You can take away people’s powers, right?” He echoes the rumor floating around the audience stand. Take it easy. 

A single brow flips up. “And if I can?” 

A balled-up fist tightens, stretching the leather of his finger-less gloves. Just like he practiced. “I need you to take that man-Geese Howard’s blood from me.” No faltering, no hesitation. Rock keeps his stare straight ahead. He’s ready for any kind of question; like why, or what’s his relationship with ‘Geese Howard’, South Town’s former king-

“Well, what’s in it for me?” Rock blinks. They’re still there, with the same cool smile. 

No time to dwell on that though. “Um.” He racks his head. Dammit, he should have thought ahead..! “I don’t have any money.” This is true, he really doesn’t. It wasn’t like he got an allowance or anything. 

The smile widens. “Non, non, you should expand your imagination a little.” With a sort of laziness, he crosses his legs. It creases the red leather of their outfit a little. “What I want, monsieur, is a date.”

...Huh? “I don’t know anyone you can go on a date with-” What is he even saying, who asks for this sort of thing-

“You’re a bit dense, aren’t you.” The smile opens, with a flash of teeth, and he knows. He’s already caught; hook, line, and sinker. “I’m talking about you. I want you. To go on a date. With me.” 

* * *

“Why didn’t you say something about this earlier?” With an audible slap, Mary drops a folder full of paper onto the table. It rattles the cup of coffee, and Rock reaches out to steady it. There aren’t that many coffee beans in the house to afford a free spill. 

Mary takes the cup. She drinks the brew straight, all the while staring. Obediently, he opens the file. Mary was a person who could down a macchiato with four espresso shots on a good day, and this definitely isn’t a good one. “Ash Crimson. Age 16, blood type O, birthplace unknown…”

“Turn to the other page.” 

“Is this even legal?” He doesn’t ask ‘ _how did you get all of this_ ’ because Mary has definitely gotten far crazier stuff before. That’s what life is as a freelancing agent, he supposes. 

“The first page is. It’s public information, recorded in the KOF database.” 

"But you're not a member of the KOF committee." Mary doesn’t reply, busily eating the BLT sandwich he made. Rock gives up, and continues to read. “Has been acting behind the scenes in three separate KOF tournaments, stealing two of the Three Sacred Treasures that keep a world ending snake sealed... What?” 

She shrugs. “It’s a crazy world.” 

That’s an understatement of the century. “...thus ending up as a number 1 target by the Ikari Warriors? Isn’t that a military group?” 

“Technically they’re mercenaries, but yes, soldiers. See what I mean? This kid’s dangerous.” Pushing the empty coffee cup away, Mary stands up. There's not a trace of bread crumbs left on the plate. “Take the file, you’ll need it. Terry, I’m going.” She calls out to the figure lying down on the couch. The figure grunts in affirmation. 

Rock blinks, confused. “That’s it? You’re not going to try and stop me or anything?” 

She gives a wry smile, slinging her violet windbreaker on. “I don’t have enough time to stop every teenager in the world from making stupid decisions, Mr. Howard.” 

He can’t help but frown, even if that is his name. “Just call me Rock.” 

An arm suddenly swings around his neck. “Better yet, call him rookie.” 

“Terry!” The time it takes for Rock to duck under his guardian’s arm, Mary’s almost out the front door. 

She winks. “I have a client waiting for me at 3, so I’ll come back for dinner. I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Rookie.” The door shuts before he can protest that name too. 

A fringe of blond hair peeks from above. “So…” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll start getting ready.” He sighs. Good thing the vegetables are already cut up. .

Getting the butter from the fridge, Rock puts a good two spoonfuls into the pot. It hits the pot sizzling. Throwing the onion and celery in too, he starts slicing up the broccoli. It’s not a bad vegetable, no matter how often Terry disagrees. 

He opens the cupboard where the soup stock is, reaching for the- “Damn!” 

Terry pokes their head through the door. “You alright there?” 

“I’m fine.” Wish he could say the same for his clothes. Rock places the now empty carton of orange juice on the table. Thankfully most of his pants are safe, since he only has two pairs at any given moment. 

The shirt’s completely unsalvageable though. He tugs it off, the soaked fabric smearing his arms with leftover juice. He takes a glimpse down, to check how much juice he has to mop up; and- 

Hard wood of the kitchen table digs underneath his nails and Rock blinks, hard. There’s nothing there, except for the floor and a few puddles. Nothing. A sick feeling crawls up his bare back. The light hasn't gotten dark, he wasn't on top of a dizzyingly high tower. 

And no diagonal scar spanning his chest.

He snatches the dishcloth from the sink.

_It’s nothing._

Wipe the spill. Put it back in the sink. 

_It’s_ nothing. 

A white buzz groans away as the water faucet soaks his hands. He gets the stock. Pour it in the pot two thirds. Then the broccoli. Close the lid and let it simmer for ten minutes... 

The file crinkles from how hard he grabs it. The sound breaks through the buzz; setting a soft reset. Guiltily, Rock opens the file. Mary didn’t dig up all of this for it to get crinkled. _‘Abilities: pyrokinesis(green fire), taking others’ abilities. With the Yata mirror: teleportation, sealing others’ abilities.._ It still feels a little shady, reading all of this. Maybe it’s because his head is still fuzzy. 

He flips through the pages, to see just how much Mary had compiled when he spots a pencil scrawl. There it is, at the back of the last page, in familiar spiky handwriting. _‘Somehow, these records seemingly disappeared without a reason. I remember having these at some point, but none of the information seemed to be in the military database, nor in any government's. Not even a birth certificate…_ ’ 

“A private gun show, huh? What’s the occasion?” The chair creaks as Terry sits across the table. No bomber jacket, they must have left it back on the couch.

“Terry,” Rock calls out, “You met him, didn’t you? Ash Crimson.” He doesn’t know what to make of Mary’s note. Or the rest of the file for that matter. What does it mean, when this sixteen year old who’s somehow a wanted criminal doesn’t officially exist? What does a person like that even want with him? 

“Hm? Yeah. Cute kid.” A hand ruffles his hair, ruffling his already messy bangs. “Have fun on your date, rookie.” 

* * *

When Rock parks his motorcycle at Second South’s main square, 15 minutes early, Ash is already waiting for him. “It’s not good to make your partner wait,” he sneers. He has on a T-shirt that’s so hot pink it should be criminal, with a pair of white slacks to match. Slung around an arm is a white purse, littered with several colored badges. He turns his neck a little, showing off a black bandanna blazoned with a giant skull.

Rock desperately tries to find a comment that isn't ‘what the hell are you wearing’. “Nice friendship bracelet.”

Ash gives it a little shake. “Thanks. It's evil.” 

“Huh?”

“Anyways, since we're running late-” 

“I arrived fifteen minutes early.” Despite operating on 5 hours of sleep. 

“-our schedule is going to have to be upped by an hour.” The teen ignores him smoothly, “Just means you won’t be taking me out to the Michelin 4 star restaurant a city away.“ Is that supposed to be a joke..? They then take out a notepad and cross something out and oh god. They were serious. “I suppose I’ll have to suffice for something locale.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Rock asks the billion dollar question. 

A corner of Ash’s grin quirks up. “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?”

Instantly, he feels his face flush. “Pretty-” 

The smirk deepens, and so does his pessimism. “Come on. We have places to be.” 

The smug guy walks off, and begrudgingly, Rock follows. Just for today. Then he’d finally be free of Geese Howard, and he won’t ever have to see that stupid smirk again. 

Right hand in pocket, he rubs his ear with his left. They’re still burning.

* * *

He’s regretting this already, so much. 

“Someone’s gloomy.” 

“I’m carrying 20 kilograms of clothes,” he snaps. Yeah it’s an exaggeration, but it feels like he’s been in these stores forever. 

“Don’t be such a bother,” the bastard says mockingly and Rock almost throws the shopping bags at them. “Besides, they’re all yours anyway.”

“I didn’t ask for them!” But he still shuts up. It was only yesterday that he had to cook shirtless. 

Ash turns to him, two shirts in hand. “Which one do you like?” 

He squints. “...These are the same outfit twice.”

“Of course not, this one clearly has thicker stripes.” 

“...” He’s starting to get a headache. “How long do we have to do this?” 

They smirk. “The shopping, or the date?” Rock stops himself from saying ‘both’. “Fine, we’ll stop. The shopping, of course. But first,” Out of nowhere, a pair of skull earrings materialize between the manicured nails. They hold the pair up to his ears. “Well? What do you think?” 

“..They’re fine.” Well. Not really. Rock takes a cursory glance, from the hot pink shirt to the white pants. “You don’t seem the type to wear stuff like that anyway.” 

“And that’s where you’re wrong.” Ash replies breezily. What’s the point of asking him then..? “Besides, how else am I going to show I died without a few skulls?” 

Distracted by the loosening grip on the shopping bags, Rock almost doesn’t hear the last sentence. “What?”

The grin only grows wider. Pale eyes crinkle smaller in comparison, fracturing the reflection of the shop’s bright lights. “I died once. Didn’t you know?”

The grip on the paper straps tighten. It’s complete bullshit, he knows. But something about how the kid is holding himself sets Rock on edge. “Why would I know that in the first place?” he shoots back. Keep it together, don’t get swept up.

The other laughs, a carefree sound. “You’re acquaintances with agent Mary, non? I find it hard to believe you’d be here without some research.” He says it so lightly, as if talking about the color of his nails. “Now come on, we’ll have to pay if you want to leave.” 

It’s only after they leave the place behind that Rock realizes something. “Wait a minute, that store didn’t sell any earrings.” 

A noncommittal shrug. “The one before did.”

“But we didn’t buy anything from that one.” 

A flutter of green sparks, and the pair of skulls return back to their hand. “What can I say, I’m a bit of a kleptomaniac.” This guy..! “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t have my ears pierced yet. Do you know if there’s a tattoo parlor nearby?”

Rock can only gape. _This guy..!_

“You should try it too, you’ll look hot with piercings.”

“No way, in hell.” 

* * *

  
  


After what feels like hours of squabbling, they’re back at the main square instead. Rock gratefully drops the bags at the foot of the bench, giving his arms a long-overdue stretch. Ash hands him his share of ice cream, compensation he had to shill out for the sake of not mutilating his own earlobes. He lets out a sigh of relief as he takes a seat. Finally, some rest. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes, but sunlight and ice cream aren’t known to mix. Taking a bite, Rock squints at the cone next to him. “Mint chocolate?” 

They wave a plastic spoon in the air. “You’re one to talk, Mister plain strawberry. Next you’re going to say you like vanilla.”

“They’re good flavors,” he argues. What’s wrong with vanilla? He then yelps, as his scoop gets dismembered by Ash’s spoon. “Hey!” 

The spoon is already in their mouth, looking positively smug. “What? You can take some of mine.” 

“I don’t-” He really isn’t about to try toothpaste flavor-he has no spoon in the first place- wait, who eats an ice cream cone with a spoon anyway?

As the questions buzz around, the spoon is already digging into the suspiciously green cream. “Your loss!”

Rock gives up, taking another bite of the strawberry. The cold wakes him up, just a little. Just for today. Just for today, then freedom. A slight breeze rustles by, crinkling the shopping bags on the floor. He frowns, quickly swallowing his mouthful. Speaking of questions,“What do you mean, ‘you died once’?” The question rings hard in his ears.

A deliberate bite of strawberry again. “Exactly what it says on the tin. I died. Bit the dust! Very romantic, I know. Ah, let me guess what you’re thinking.” The spoon swipes the air with a flourish. “how is this beautiful stud still here then?”

Hold the phone. “A what and a _what_?” He’s so aghast that he almost drops his cone. Beautiful? Stud??? This twig?

They lean back against the backrest, smirk practically hanging from ear to ear. “See, if Jesus of Nazareth can come back, then there’s no reason why I can’t, right?”

...This has to be some kind of personal hell; death brought on by saddling the world’s most insufferable bastard of all time. Rock throws the rest of the ice cream into a nearby trash can. He lost his appetite. “You should have gotten the Grim Reaper here then. Give it a french kiss or whatever.” 

...

He blinks. Wait a second... 

Another blink, as the penny drops. 

_What the hell is he saying?!_ Heat rises right up to his ears. Rock quickly looks to the side, already filled with dread. What kind of evil, horrible expression is going to be- 

He stops. In the familiar buzzing of the crowd, is a 'break'. Eyes wide open. Eyebrows raised. His breath gets stuck, and it’s as if Rock's underwater. What’s before him isn’t a sneer, no, not even a smile. It’s something almost expressionless, something fished out of the deep sea. It’s an almost though, because he's close enough to see the lips curving, pointed slightly down-

"What, exactly, are you looking at?" Rock jumps, hitting his back against the metal armrest. He’s back on land, with the same crowd, in the same square. There’s that same smirk he’s sick of seeing, and it's as if nothing happened. “You’re looking healthy, guess that means we can go for a round 2.” Ash gets up, tossing the remains of the cone into the trash as well. With a stretch, they turn to him with a grin that can be only described as ‘demonic’. “Time for more shopping!”

He gapes. Scratch the land or sea, this is hell he’s back in. "We've been shopping for the last 2 hours."

"For your wardrobe, not mine." A breezy reply, and his fate is sealed. "Now come on, I am in desperate need of a new pair of boots."

* * *

Rock finds out that waiting for someone shopping was infinitely worse than trying on the clothes himself.

He stands up from his seat for the 4th time. He’s at the very front corner of the shoe store, with a single white stool. The window glass shows another row of stores, signs blazing a loud mix of English and Chinese. For some reason, Ash had dragged Rock all the way to Second South’s Chinatown; just for him to wake up, ditched. The taps of his loafers ring out pathetically. It’s good that he managed to get some shut-eye waiting here, but god. It’s so **boring**. 

He sits back down again. Was Ash even still here? It’s completely possible that by now, the guy was off the entire continent. He changes his position a bit, scuffing the side of the loafers against the stool. He should just leave. Pride shmide, no way he’s sticking with that demon voluntarily. He thinks of that evil smile again and shudders. Awful. Couldn’t even eat ice cream in peace. 

_As if everything became underwater,_

It gets tight, as Rock fiddles with his gloves. What was that break? It was barely there, only for a split second. But somehow, he can’t seem to get it out of his head. The slowed crowd and dulled noise. An almost expressionless face. 

_Maybe it was all a dream._

He gets up again. Why is he wasting his time like this? Who cares, if that bastard doesn’t smile for a second? _‘I died once. Didn’t you know?’_ A crunch of grinding teeth. Why was he indulging a kleptomaniac’s bullshit to begin with? 

"Found you🎵"

His jacket flares from how fast he turns around. "What-" The words die in his mouth.

It's a dress, for starters. How did they even get it, this is a shoe store! Light blue, with an equally light checkered pattern. It's definitely pretty, even to Rock's untrained eye. It wouldn't look out of place in a beach commercial or something. That is, if it weren't for the spiked black leather jacket on top. 

The grin on Ash’s face is absolutely wicked. "Like what you see?" He twirls, new boots clacking on the marble floor. "This cost a pretty penny, y'know. It would be disappointing if you didn't." 

"It’s good." Rock manages to say without stuttering. It's true this time, it really, really does look good. Unreasonable, and confusing as hell(why spikes?), but still good. “...You took that comment about punk not fitting you pretty seriously, huh.”

“Proving people wrong is a habit of mine.” Their tone turns snippy, and for once, Rock gets some vindication.

“Not gonna do anything to your hair?” he remarks, as a lace-framed hand plays around with that curtain of a bang of theirs. They might as well go all the way. 

The hand freezes. “I like it this way.” A light tone, but he’s already seen it. That underwater expression. The tone suddenly shifts. “Unless, you have other plans?”

A solid knock as Rock backs into the stool by accident. “Like hell.” The words are strong, but he can feel his face burning again. His brain is turning though. A ‘break’. What does that mean, actually? What, and also why-

“Oh, saving them for dinner? I did see a very nice lobster place ‘round the corner🎵”

“...” Back to reality. He wasn’t going to be able to buy groceries for an entire month.

* * *

They actually went for noodles. Or ‘Ban Mian’, as Ash corrected him, with perfect Chinese. It was good, even if he had to use a fork after dropping 2 whole pairs of chopsticks. More importantly, it was dirt-cheap. 

“Didn’t think you ate stuff like that,” Rock comments as they walk past the busy streets. Somehow, it’s already night. 

A look. “Monsieur, as dashing as you are, racism is not a good look.”

“Wha-I’m not-Hey!” he yells, as the other starts laughing. “You know what I meant!”

“Well, I’m full of surprises. I did say we’d go for something local.” A grin, and Rock almost stops walking. For the first time, they actually look...satisfied. Or just simply happier. 

Rock shakes his head. “Why Chinatown, anyway?” he hastily changes the topic. The night is chill, but it doesn’t stop his ears from burning. 

“Because I miss it there.” A response, without missing a beat. He doesn’t say exactly where, but Rock remembers the number of ‘Shanghai’s from Mary’s file. He then turns to Rock, suddenly playful. “Aha. I was barely there for a full year though.”

“...Does that really matter? The amount of time you spent.” Shanghai. He rolls the word in his mouth. He’s never been there, hell he’s never been outside America, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s anything like Second South. A deep black ocean, boats straggling on the pier, a downtown that’s always bustling..

Ash laughs again. “Not bad. Beauty _and_ brains, hm?” They tap his nose with a finger, and jump back as he yells out in indignation. “Someone’s strung up🎵” 

The noise he makes at the back of his throat doesn’t nearly sound scoffing enough. ‘Stop messing around’ is what he wants to say; but it gets stuck as they keep laughing. A wind blows, making the headlights flicker. It’s like a half-made eclipse, the way the light flickers on and off, and it freezes his tongue. By accident, their eyes meet and it takes one blink of non-light to see it again; eyes widened, with the smallest of frowns. 

“If you keep spacing out like that,” then it’s back to square one, Ash leaning in with an all-too familiar smirk, “I might just push you onto the road.”

He has to stop himself from taking a step back. “Is that a threat?” _A 'What' and a 'Why'._

“Just saying.” He turns away with a flirty shrug. For a second, Rock considers confronting him, but this is a rare silence he doesn’t want to ruin. So they continue walking, past the cars, past the looming buildings in the skyline. 

He’s still thinking about Shanghai. He’d have checked it on his phone if there were any reception. Pretty bustling, maybe, with neon signs everywhere; kind of like here. He takes a glance at the leather jacket in front of him. It shines like an oil spill, and he imagines a back alley, stained with cigarette grit. 

But is that really..?

_that satisfied look under the light_

The grip on the bags tighten. He has to stop thinking about this- 

“We’re here.” The first thing he sees are the roses. They’re coiled around a dusky iron gate, a fence flanking each side. 

“It looks locked,” he states the obvious. The street lamps shine on the petals, turning dusky red to bright scarlet.

“Wow, have you ever considered higher education?”

“Hey!” 

Ash ignores his complaint, heading straight to the lock. "Did you know," he asks again, "that in China they have a meaning for each flower color? For example, red and pink means life. You see them used in celebrations a lot." 

He takes a moment to process. “...Is that why you wear red so much?”

“No, that’s because it fits my complexion.” He holds out an open palm under the lock.

Even before a flash of green can appear, Rock steps in. “What are you _doing_?!”

The look he gets is absolutely patronizing. “Is this a trick question, or what.” 

"You can't-you can't just break into public property!”

“It’s a free world.” 

“ _No, it is not._ ” 

Ash opens his mouth for a second, but no dice. He then turns, and- “Hmph. Have it your way. For now.” 

Rock blinks. "That's it?"

“What, isn’t this what you wanted? You should really make up your mind.” They lazily lean against a nearby lamppost. Raising a hand, they start busying over their nails. 

“Keep that up and people will think you grew a heart all of a sudden.” In contrast to how casual they look, Rock stays awkwardly hovering on the sidewalk. He at least drops the bags. He doesn't need any reason to look more like an idiot. 

"You should try it."

He snorts. "What, not having a heart? No thanks." With their hand like that, it's not too hard to imagine a cigarette between those outstretched fingers. Thoughts start to crawl up again. A what, and a why. 'What' is that break, 'Why' are they here, 'Why' were they telling him this. 

A frown. 'Why'. He keeps coming back to it, like an old bone. There’s just too many, that it can’t be helped, from all the way back to when this act was first set up. The gloves scrape as Rock shoves his hands into his pockets. Why did he ask to remove this blood in the first place…? Because of ‘that man’, of course, he knows that. But he’s been fine, hasn’t he? Hasn’t he? 

_There’s nothing there; no tower, and no scar._

It’s tight, too tight as he balls up his fists. Maybe if he hits something, the feeling will go away. 

"You know, you haven’t asked.” Suddenly, the quiet’s broken. “If there’s a color I don’t like or not. It’s white, by the way." Their eyes seem to be twinkling, in the light. 

“...Why?” He needs to know. 

“Because it means death. White flowers, I mean.” 

“...” Rock stares at their white bag. It’s almost definitely BS, but somehow, it doesn't feel like a lie this time. He stops. _Have_ they been lying though…? The part where they talked about Shanghai seemed real, and he can’t think of any other time that stands out. The events of the day blur as they’re rewinded. Chinatown, punk, and ice cream... 

_“I died once.”_

Death. They kept coming back to that topic on purpose. Why? 

But before Rock could open his mouth properly and ask, ”Well, since I followed your request, you’re going to have to follow one of mine.“ Ash walks up to him. Picking up some of the bags, an end of his smile turns crooked. As if it all doesn’t matter. “You came here by bike, right?”

* * *

  
  


It's a nice place, the spot Ash told him to go. Close to the outskirts of the town, on a top of a hill; just barely outside the neighboring forest. Even though there’s a pathway, the place feels secluded because of how the trees are leaning against each other. 

“So why are we here again?” There’s absolutely nothing here, except for a single bench. Even then it’s nothing special, the paint flaked off around the edges. It doesn’t even have a backrest. 

Ash doesn’t seem to care, as he immediately takes a seat. He taps a hand over the empty space. "Well?”

Rock begrudgingly sits next to them. The day’s almost over, but all he is left with are questions and more questions. By telling him something so unbelievable, he was tricked into thinking the rest would be just as untrustworthy. Why though? And why emphasize? 

“You can see the Chinatown from here. See?” The black nail glints as the teen points to somewhere below. Their legs swing, rustling their dress in a two-beat ‘shk’. It makes Rock pause, even with that half-crooked grin of theirs. Maybe he’s overthinking this. Then the events of today crowd in and no, he’s not. Probably.

He almost wishes he was angry. Anger is easy, at least than whatever this is. A silhouette of a man flickers under his eyelids, pain blossoming as Rock bites the insides of his cheeks and yeah. Definitely not anger. He takes a swipe at his mouth. It's just frustration, that’s all. "So again-"

"Shhh!" Something clawed grabs his wrist and he nearly bites his tongue off. "Look!"

He shakes off their hand first. "Wh-" 

A trail of red, from out of nowhere. It travels, up, up and up, until- 

Bang. The sound's like a gunshot. The sky’s filled with sparks, scarlet gold streaks lined up like a flower. More red trails, and this time he sees them rising from down below, where Ash was pointing just seconds ago. The gunshots bang and they all explode, a sea of red and gold. 

Ash laughs, in a carefree sort of way. "Told you red’s used in celebrations. It's different, don't you think?" 

Different? He tries remembering the New Years fireworks he saw back with Terry, just this January. Flashes of lights, hot chocolate in hand, and with crowds and crowds of people cheering. "I guess so." Here, this feels...lonely. 

Rock sneaks a peek to his side. In the red light, they‘re smiling, just like back at the Chinatown streets. He turns away, before they catch him staring. ..There’s something entrancing, even though the guy smiled all the time. Again, that weird tightness is back and he flips the clues and puzzle pieces over his hand. "You seem happy," he blurts out. 

For the fourth time. Then the smile, and it’s deja vu at this point. "What can I say? I like pretty things." Raised brows. Lips slightly turned down. Rock’s sure he knows what expression that’s supposed to be. "Pretty cakes, pretty clothes," he bats his eyes "pretty boys."

A familiar flush itches at Rock's ears, but he ignores it. Death. The kept-up hair. Shanghai and the flower colors. In one moment he says one thing, then the opposite the next. 

_‘I died. Bit the dust! Very romantic, I know.’_

_‘Because it means death. White flowers, I mean.’_

Death. The word keeps ringing in his ear. There’s too many questions, and almost no answers. Hell, he barely knows himself- And before he can reign his thoughts in-

"Why are you doing this?" It’s not a question, it’s a demand. Faintly, he hears the first round of fireworks fading out. "Why set up this act at all? For what purpose?"

...Who even are you, really?

It’s like a switch to a bomb. The sky comes falling, crushing the air into a pitch black. It knocks the breath out of him, leg crashing into a corner of the bench in a bout of panic. His hand scrabbles, trying to get a clear grip on the wood. He can’t see..! 

"What do you think?" He freezes. The voice, it’s from right next to him, but that’s not- 

Hands. He feels them, before they shove. The back of his head slams into the ground, making it lurch and spin. But the voice keeps going- "You should have some kind of idea, don’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn't agree to be alone with a murderer." 

The flat of his shoes slide. " _What?_ " 

"Haha...I suppose that information isn't recorded yet." A rustle, and Rock backs away. It keeps coming though, closer and closer. "You see, when I take something away, I have to put my hand re-al deep through their chest. No blood required, just reaching and reaching, until you hit something. Something warm, that it feels like the sun. You sink your fingers into it and pull back, then bingo! It’s simple, isn’t it?” 

It’s not human. Everything about that voice, every word, every sound. Another step back, and a piece of a laugh slips by. It sounds like dry scales rattling in the wind. “Do you know what happens if I take that entire thing away? Do you?” 

Enough. His heels grind into the dirt. Enough! A gust of wind erupts, as energy gathers in both palms. "Don't come near me!" Raging-

What happens next is a blur. A hand yanks him forward by the shirt, and before anything else can happen, something crashes into his mouth, hard. A shout of pain, but it's cut off by something sharp-teeth. They're teeth.

Rock’s eyes fly open. In the darkness of the hillside, litten splotchily by the returning fireworks, he’s being kissed.

Thump. Blood roaring in his ears.

Thump. Hard pressure against his lips. 

Thump. _“A murderer.”_ His fingers remember they exist, and clench. It’s too much-

In a split second, two things happen. A gasp tears out from his lungs, as Ash shoves him again, down onto the grass. Dry grass tears in his hands as Rock coughs out spit. His chest, it’s burning…!

“Oh, you’re awake! The last two lost consciousness.” The voice is human again, sickly sweet, and he tastes filthy rust. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he manages to spit out. 

“Lots of things, monsieur! But you knew that from the start, didn’t you? You knew what you were getting into. ” Rock looks up to him standing there, hand alight in blue. _His_ blue. In the blue shadow, the smile’s wider. Color reflects off their eyes like a mirror, and they’re like bottomless pits. 

Rage, lava hot, renders the underbelly of his tongue numb. Again, he's been played around with again. Kicked off to plummet because he was too much of an idiot to notice; hunched over intentionally contrary clues-

Contrary? 

It’s like a light switch. _Intentionally._ He says the truth, then makes him think it was a lie. The truth first, then everything else.

_You seem happy._ If that’s the truth, then this entire turn of events can only be fake.

“You kissed me terribly on purpose.” 

The light winks out. “...Excuse me?” The smile’s still there, but this time he knows better. 

“All of this, this set-up, you wanted to ruin it on purpose,“ the more he talks, the more he’s sure of it. The reason for talking about death so much- “you wanted me to hate you, right? To scare me away.”

Something dark twists, and he imagines he sees fangs. “Aha. You really used your head, didn’t you?" A trail of blue spins in the air. "So, then. What are you going to do about it? Your business here is long done.”

“Shut up!" Nothing makes sense anymore. Not the scenery, not the situation, and definitely not his own words. If what he was saying was right, then what's the point? If all of this was to confuse and scare him, then why say the truth in the first place? Asking him questions, talking about themselves, none of it adds up. There's absolutely nothing to gain-

_Contrary._ ...If the ‘point’ was also a lie,

Then the opposite of having him hate them would be- 

“Isn't it because you wanted to like me?”

_Bang._ A loud gunshot, and everything turns blood-red. It’s a perfect excuse, for a bastard as slippery as them to go ‘Huh? Didn’t quite catch that.’ It doesn’t happen though, because in that red light, in the parted lips and raised eyebrows, Rock finally sees the clear surprise. 

Suddenly, again, darkness. He staggers, forward this time, but stops when he hears laughter. “You’re just like them. Terry Bogard. You talk about kisses for one second, then act like you know everything the next. Disgusting.” Low. Malicious. It’d be completely non-human if it also didn’t sound so, so tired. 

The black spots disappear after a few seconds, leaving the hillside bleached gray. On the bench is Ash, still in the same mismatched dress and jacket. Hesitating, he sits next to the still figure. In this angle, he can’t exactly see the other’s face. “...You don’t actually like me, do you.”

A snort. “Must everything be spelled out? Can’t you just accept that sometimes a beautiful gay twink isn’t your manic pixie boy?”

“None of what you said are actual words.”

Rock flinches as the other’s head practically falls onto his shoulder. “So? Why do you care?” 

Because you almost put a hole through my chest. Those words are shut down though. “You're the one who kept making me guess.” 

“Doesn't mean you have to answer.” 

Rock grimaces. Can't exactly argue with that. “Dunno. I barely know what my own deal is.” He changes the question. “And you? Why do you care?” 

They’re silent, for a little while. “What do you think.” A statement. His shoulder hits bone and Rock has to resist the urge to knock the head away. This can’t be comfortable for anyone. “Before I died,” Rock jolts. “I fell in love once.” The head shifts, and he jolts again as hair brushes against his bare neck. “Maybe I wanted to feel it again. Who knows.” The words are quiet. So quiet that it feels like it’s by someone entirely else. 

“...With who?” He asks, trying to shake off this creeping feeling. He can’t even imagine it; how somebody so twisted can be in love. 

“...” Silence. Rock hedges a look down. Ash’s still there, eyes closed. It almost looks like he’s asleep. _‘Somebody so twisted.’_ Guilt stabs him in the gut.

“You know,” _Come on, think._ “I think you had a good time. We both did. Even if you tried to ruin it.” It’s on-the-moment blustering, but it’s the truth, he realizes. 

The wind blows, and the clouds shift, revealing the moon. There aren’t any more fireworks, leaving the hillside blue in the night. Rock looks up, the wind tickling where his skin is exposed. It’s not yet a full moon. “I don’t know why you’re like this,” he speaks bluntly, “but I don’t hate you. I don’t really like you either, but... It wasn’t too bad. Hanging out like this.” 

No response. He nudges a little. “You listening?” 

In a split second. Rock sees it in slow motion, out of the corner of his eye. Lunging, he manages to catch an arm, just before the body slumps to the ground. “Hey-” The rest freezes on Rock’s tongue. Through the layers of jacket and dress, their skin is stone cold. A spider of irrational fear skitters, into his throat, curling up in his windpipe. A yell builds up, blaring; this is wrong, this situation isn’t human. 

Gritting his teeth, Rock manages to not let go. He hauls him up. The white of the moon bloats the exposed skin, and…no. Don’t finish that thought. ‘ _I died once. Didn’t you know?_ ’ Already grit teeth crunch harder. Shut. Up. “Hey. Hey! Wake up.”

“He ain’t gonna wake up to something like that.” This time, he nearly does yell. Below a tree is a giant of a man, even bigger than Terry. The man walks up to the bench, lighting up a flung-open shirt and spiked hair. In the light, Rock notices thick black stripes, stamped onto his forearms. “Damn brat, he told me he’d be back by eleven.” The stripes move, and suddenly Rock’s hands are empty.

“What-” 

“I’ll take it from here,” the man cuts him off. “He’s still alive. Just say which stuff is his.” Alive. The relief weighs Rock down. Still mute, Rock hands the bags over. A smell of incense trails from where the man touched his hand, tingling, and he closes his palm. Tighter and tighter, until he can’t hold it any longer. It leaves crescent marks on the leather glove and god. This really isn’t a dream, is it. 

He stays there, hovering, as the man walks down the hill, Ash still in his arms. In the distance and darkness, even the giant’s back looks small. Distantly, as the smell of incense fades into the night, Rock thinks it’s because of sadness.

  
  
  



End file.
